


Daytingale

by LadyBeloe



Category: The Halcyon (TV)
Genre: Angst, Betsey-centric, Child Neglect, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Poverty, The Halcyon Friends & Family February 2021, child fic, implied reference to an underage prostitution network (nothing actually happens), precanon fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29703996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBeloe/pseuds/LadyBeloe
Summary: Betsey's Mum goes out on a date. Betsey is left to her own devices, and her evening takes an unexpected turn.
Relationships: Ms Day/OMCs (background - mentioned)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	Daytingale

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic for week 4 of The Halcyon Friends and Family February fest : child/parent, mentor/mentee
> 
> Thanks to Lucy-Ferrier for organizing it ! :D 
> 
> This is not a very joyful story, I'm afraid...but there's some hope in it ! I hope you'll enjoy it! 
> 
> Song used in this story: THE BOY I LOVE IS UP IN THE GALLERY by George Ware (1885)

— “How do I look?” 

Betsey had been expecting the question, and she also knew what she was expected to answer. 

— “You’re very pretty, Mum.” 

It was not exactly a lie. Just that her enthusiasm was starting to feel old and worn. Like her clothes. 

Painted lips smiled at her as Mum looked at her daughter’s reflection next to hers in the mirror. The top right corner of it was broken, but there weren’t many things in the flat that weren’t. Broken and patched up from being moved around too often. 

— “Thank you, Darling! I was worried that dress was a little risqué, but it looks good, doesn’t it?” 

Betsey thought that if risqué meant showing a bit too much cleavage, then the dress definitely was. But she wasn’t about to say so. 

— “Can I have a new dress too, next time?” She asked instead. 

— “Oh, of course, Darling! Once Daniel and I are engaged, you’ll have all the dresses you want!” 

Betsey would have been happy to secure even one. 

— “Are you going to be out all night?” 

— “Probably, yes. Daniel’s taking me to the pictures, and then we’re having dinner at that nice new restaurant in town. It serves French food, Bets, can you imagine? I’ll be able to try the coq au vin and the profiteroles! Daniel’s always been a man of taste. Expensive taste.” 

A chuckle. 

— “Can I go with you?” 

She ought to have known better than to ask by now, but part of her was still foolishly hopeful. 

The slightest frown of crayoned eyebrows. 

— “No, no, Darling. I can’t take you with me. It’s a romantic soirée, just for me and Daniel. It’s a grown-up thing. Not for little girls.” 

— “Then what am I going to eat for dinner?” 

Mum was supposed to go to the grocery store while Betsey was at school, but it had apparently slipped her mind. 

The frown got more pronounced, the red lips no longer smiling. 

— “There are some cans in the cupboard, you can heat something up.” 

— “It’s only baked beans left. I’ve already had baked beans yesterday.” 

Mum sighed, pressing her lips together in a thin line for a second and getting up briskly from her seat at the dressing table. 

— “But you love them on hot toast, don’t you?”

Seeming to notice Betsey’s disgruntled face, she added quickly: 

— “There’s a bit of money left in the tin box on the shelf, you can take it and buy yourself some fish and chips, alright?” 

Betsey bit her lip hard to stop herself from telling her mother that she had already checked and there was in fact no money left in the tin box. Apparently baked beans would have to do again. 

Mum was hurrying to put on her coat and hat, as though she couldn’t get out of the flat soon enough. Couldn’t get away from _her_ soon enough. 

— “I have to run, Darling, I’m sorry. I can’t keep the cabbie waiting.” 

There had been no impatient horn sound coming from the street and Betsey knew that if she checked out through the window, the cabbie wouldn’t be there yet. The blatant lie made her suddenly angry and she felt the need to retaliate. 

— “Couldn’t he have sent you a car, if he is so rich and he cares about you so much?” She asked. “Michael always sent you a car, didn’t he?” 

Her mother blenched through the rouge, her bottom lip trembling, and Betsey instantly regretted her words. It was too late to take them back, though. 

— “Michael wasn’t the right man for me,” Mum replied. “But Daniel is. I have a good feeling about him. I know it’s going to work out this time. He may even propose tonight!” 

— “Yes, Mum,” Betsey sighed. 

As if she had not heard all that with Michael, and Arthur, and Peter. 

— “You know I’m doing this for you, right?” Mum said, stroking her cheek. 

_Sure. For me, and for the coq au vin and the profiteroles._

— “You may not understand it now, but once we are out of trouble with a man taking care of us, you’ll know I was right. It’s not easy for us women, but we’ve got to do what we’ve got to do. You’ll see what I mean one day.” 

— “Yes, Mum.” 

A barely-there kiss to her forehead, for fear that it would smear the lipstick. 

— “You be a good girl while I’m away, alright?” 

Betsey nodded, wishing she could be sure that Mum was going to be a good girl too. She doubted it. All those French wines...the coq au vin surely wasn’t going to be the only creature imbibed in alcohol by the end of the night. 

She hugged her mother – not too tightly, to avoid creasing her dress – and closed her eyes, inhaling her perfume and behind it, faint but still there if you were looking for it, the special scent of her skin, ever familiar and still comforting in spite of everything. 

— “Be careful, Mum.” 

_Please come back soon. Please come back at all._

— “Of course I’ll be careful, silly! Besides, I’ll be with Daniel. He is a proper gentleman. He won’t let anything bad happen to me.” 

Mum was already trying to wriggle out of her embrace, and she let go. 

— “Goodbye, Darling,” her mother said. “Wish me luck!” 

She blew her a kiss and winked. 

— “I do,” Betsey replied with a strained smile. 

After all, would it be such a bad thing if Daniel really married Mum? Betsey supposed he was alright, though she didn’t particularly like him. He seemed content to just ignore her, as though he would rather forget about her existence altogether – so did Mum from time to time – and she was fine with _his_ indifference at least. As far as she knew, he wasn’t violent, and she had no evidence he was a drunk or a gambler. Not that bad indeed. If he was willing to support them both, who was she to complain about it? It would certainly be nice to finally stop worrying about paying the rent and buying food and clothes. And maybe, just maybe, once Mum would finally have settled with a man, she would pay a bit more attention to Betsey and spend more time with her? 

A spark of hope awoke inside her, and she wasn’t able to blow it out. 

— “Goodbye, Mum,” she said with a real smile this time. “Have fun!” 

With a last rustle of fabric, her mother was gone, leaving a trail of perfume behind.

Leaving Betsey behind. 

The girl wondered what on earth she was going to do all evening. She had already done her homework to the best of her abilities. Fetching the broom, she started sweeping the floor, though she had already cleaned most of the flat earlier. 

She then settled on the worn old couch to look at some of Mum’s dog-eared fashion magazines, but she couldn’t sit still for long. She wished she had a sibling to play with – or at least a pet, but her mother had never wanted them to. Cats and dogs were nothing but a nuisance in her eyes, and they couldn’t afford to keep one anyway. 

The girl’s stomach started growling before long, and she opened the cupboard, looking mournfully at the solitary can of baked beans. She wished that Mum had not mentioned the fish and chips: the thought nearly made her drool now. 

She couldn’t go to their neighbour’s to ask for food in exchange for some chores – Mrs Figgins and her were no longer on good terms since the woman had called Betsey’s mum a “shameless hussy” and Betsey had called her a jealous old hag in return. That bridge had definitely gone up in flames. 

A sudden idea crossed her mind. She bit her lip, unsure if it was a good one or not. It was probably mad and would never work, but after all, she had nothing to lose. Once her mind was made up, she felt a rush of energy run through her as she hurried off to her bedroom – or more precisely, the part of their only bedroom that was hers. She changed, putting on her best dress, and brushed her hair, adorning it with the butterfly pin she loved so much. It was the closest thing she owned to an actual piece of jewellery, and it was pretty and shiny. She had won it at the fair a few years ago, when Arthur had taken her there with Mum. It had been a really nice day, and Betsey still remembered it fondly. Arthur was the only one of Mum’s suitors she had actually liked – though she ought to have known better than to think he was going to stick around for long. Once the pin was in place, she went to Mum’s dressing table to look at herself in the mirror. “How do I look?” she asked herself, imagining her mother’s voice answering her: “You’re very pretty, Darling!” She smiled at her reflection and left the room. She put on her shoes and coat and walked out of the flat, carefully locking up the door behind her. 

It was chillier outside than she would have thought, and she hoped Mum wasn’t going to catch a cold. The temperature wasn’t going to help with her plan either, but she could still make it work. She started walking faster until she reached the square. 

There were people walking around, huddled in small chatting groups, seated on benches, children playing marbles. 

Betsey positioned herself at the foot of the statue that represented some military officer or politician from a long time ago, name barely readable on the pedestal anymore and head covered in acid pigeon droppings.

She spread out her handkerchief at her own feet and cleared her throat.

She had never been shy, and she wasn’t the least bit frightened now. 

— “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Betsey, and I would like to sing something for you on this nice evening. I thank you in advance for your attention.” 

A few of the people seated on the benches interrupted their conversation to look up at her; some passers-by also stopped a few steps away from her, but most of them didn’t pay her any attention. She didn’t mind. Only one person would have been enough to boost her confidence. 

She took a deep breath and started singing. 

“I'm a young girl, and have just come over,  
Over from the country where they do things big,  
And amongst the boys I've got a lover,  
And since I've got a lover, why I don't care a fig…”

More people were looking up and stopping by now, curious interest on their faces. 

“The boy I love is up in the gallery,  
The boy I love is looking now at me,  
There he is, can't you see, waving his handkerchief,  
As merry as a robin that sings on a tree.”

A young woman with an indulgent smile on her lips was the first one to make a move, dropping a farthing on Betsey’s handkerchief.   
The girl smiled and lightly tipped her head in thanks, without interrupting her song. Her heart was beating strongly in her chest. 

_Is this really going to work?_

“Now, If I were a Duchess and had a lot of money,  
I'd give it to the boy that's going to marry me.  
But I haven't got a penny, so we'll live on love and kisses,  
And be just as happy as the birds on the tree…”

Two other people put money on the handkerchief. 

_I can’t believe it! It’s working! It really is working!_

“The boy I love is up in the gallery,  
The boy I love is looking now at me,  
There he is, can't you see, waving his handkerchief,  
As merry as a robin that sings on a tree.”

Four songs in, Betsey decided to call it a night. Her throat was starting to feel sore, but her spirits were higher than ever before. 

She curtsied to the little crowd now gathered around her, gratefully thanking her clapping audience, and carefully gathered her money, tying up the corners of the little piece of fabric together and putting it safely inside the pocket of her coat. 

As she was walking away from the square, a man in his forties accosted her. Betsey recognized him: he had been among the audience at her little recital. The girl instinctively moved away from him, thinking about the money in her pocket. Her suspicions must have shown on her face, for the man started laughing. 

— “I’m not going to rob you, girl,” he said. “In fact, I’m here to make you an offer: how would you like making even more money? A pretty girl with a pretty voice like you…you could sing for rich people who would be ready to pay a good price for you…do you know what a patron is?” 

— “Stop bothering the young lady,” a voice resounded behind them. 

Betsey turned around and saw another man, older and scruffier, standing there staring at her interlocutor with a fierce expression on his face. He looked familiar too: it was the barrel organ player she had often seen in the neighbourhood. She had listened to him play many times, and even given him money once or twice, when she could spare something. 

— “I’m not bothering her,” the other man started. “I’m making her a business offer…”

— “Aye, we know what kind of business you have in mind,” the street musician replied. “Get away from here now or you’ll regret it!” 

The man seemed to hesitate for a moment, then walked away, cursing between his teeth. 

The musician watched him leave with the same hardened expression on his face. 

— “You should be more careful, little Miss,” he finally said, turning towards Betsey. “There are some bad men in the streets at night…and they eat little girls like you alive.” 

— “I’m not a little girl,” Betsey proclaimed proudly. “And I wasn’t going to fall for his stupid trick.” 

— “If you say so,” the barrel organ player replied, shrugging. 

— “Is it very heavy?” Betsey asked, curiously looking at the bulky instrument strapped across the man’s chest. 

— “Too heavy for a little mouse like you,” the man retorted, though he was smiling now. “You are lucky you don’t have anything to carry around. You have your own instrument with you all the time.” 

Betsey had never thought of her voice as her own instrument; it was a nice thought. 

— “I heard you earlier,” the man went on. “That filthy scoundrel was right about one thing: you have a pretty voice indeed.” 

— “I didn’t see you there,” Betsey answered casually, trying not to show how pleased she was with the compliment.

— “That’s cause you don’t have eyes on the back of your head. What are you doing here alone at this time anyway, Miss? Aren’t your parents goin’ to worry?”

— “It’s just me and my mother, and she ain’t here,” Betsey replied, unsure why she was telling the man all that. Something about him made her trust him instinctively, which was a rare occurrence. 

— “Ain’t she?”

— “I wanted to see if I could earn enough money for fish and chips,” Betsey confessed. “Did you really mean that about my voice?”

— “Course I mean it. Why would I be telling you fibs? You’re pretty good already, and with some lessons, you could be even better.” 

_Lessons? Like at school, but for singing?_

Betsey bit her lip. 

— “I’m not sure I’d like that... And I can’t afford it anyway.” 

— “Maybe not now, you can’t. But you’re still very young, you don’t know what’s in store for you in the future. A little bird like you, there’s nothing you cannot do.” 

— “You said I was a mouse, now I’m a bird?” Betsey scoffed. 

— “Aye, I did say that. But the bird fits you better. A right little nightingale, you are.” 

— “Did you ever hear one sing?” Betsey asked. “A nightingale, I mean.” 

— “Nah, I didn’t.” 

— “So how do you know if they really sing that well? Everyone says that, but I’ve never heard one, and no one I know’s ever heard one either.” 

The man chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. 

— “Aren’t you a clever one, hey? Well, here you are. Go have that fish and chips. I’m sure you have enough for it now.” 

Betsey realized they were indeed standing a few feet away from the seller’s shop. It was very close to the square, and they had walked in that direction while chatting without her even noticing. Her hunger had seemingly disappeared while she was singing, but it flared up again when the rich smell wafted up towards her. 

— “Are you going to have some to?” She asked, looking up at the musician. 

She had not planned to have company for dinner, but now, she really wished they could eat together and go on talking for a little while. She didn’t much fancy having dinner alone in the flat, though it would be far from the first time – which meant she knew exactly just how dreary it was. 

— “Now that you suggest it, I could probably grab a bite,” the man approved, taking some coins out of his pocket. 

Betsey grinned, and they made their way to the counter together like old friends. 

Betsey bought the smallest portion, so that she would have some money left to put in the tin box back home. She avidly took a bite as soon as the newspaper-wrapped treat was in her hands. The crusty, oily batter felt like heaven.

When she was a bit less ravenous, she started asking her companion questions about his trade. Once she had begun, she found out that she couldn’t stop. Her curiosity about the street musician and his way of life ran much deeper than she had realized. 

The man good-naturedly answered her, not trying to make his existence look any easier or more glamorous than it was, but also highlighting many pleasant aspects of it that made her feel a little dreamy. 

— “It’s a hard life, girl,” the musician finally summed up. “You don’t have much comfort and you don’t eat enough every day. But you have freedom, and your music to keep you warm.” 

Betsey didn’t know much about freedom. Sure, she was left to her own devices more than most girls her age, but at the end of the day, she was still following her mum’s whims. She wondered what it would feel like to go away and do only what she wanted to, never settling in the same place for long, but just because she wanted to see what things were like elsewhere, not because Mum had not paid the rent or had caused scandal with neighbours and they had to leave and find some other place to live. 

As soon as the thought had crossed her mind though, she felt guilty about it. She could never leave Mum. They needed each other. At least Betsey needed her mother, and she knew that, even though Mum sometimes acted as though Betsey was an inconvenience, she would have been lost without her. At least that’s what she told herself as a reassurance. Besides, she was much too young to go anywhere on her own anyway. 

— “I think I should go back home now,” she said. 

The old musician offered to walk with her to make sure she’d get home safely, and though Betsey’s first instinct was to refuse, she heard herself agree. 

— “I’ll tell you something,” the man said when they were in front of Betsey’s building. “Why don’t you come and sing with me sometimes? You know where to find me. I play at the square every Sunday afternoon. We’ll share the profits and all, don’t you worry. You can ask your Mum to come with you so she can watch over you.” 

A bitter little voice in Betsey’s mind told her that her Mum probably wouldn’t care, but she fought it off. 

— “Alright,” she said. “I’ll ask her.” 

She bit her lip, hesitating for a second before adding: 

— “Thank you for your help.” 

— “You’re welcome, little Miss,” the musician replied. 

— “Betsey. It’s Betsey, my name.” 

— “And mine’s Howard. It was nice talking with you, Miss Betsey. Good night!” 

— “Good night, Mr Howard.” 

The musician tipped his hat and walked away. 

***

A thud woke Betsey up, followed by a scarcely muffled curse. 

— “Damn it!” 

— “Mum?” 

Betsey groped around until she reached the switch of the bedside lamp and turned it on. 

She sat up in her bed and put on her worn pair of slippers before going to the living-room. She turned on the light again. 

Her mother was crawling on the floor, struggling to stand up, and Betsey rushed up to her side to help her. 

— “Mum, are you alright?” 

— “‘m fine, Mum slurred, leaning heavily on Betsey’s shoulder. I tripped…”

She was dishevelled, her hat askew, and wearing only one of her shoes, the other resting on the floor a few feet away. Betsey steered her mother towards the couch where she managed to get her to half-sit, half lie-down, then knelt in front of her to take off her other shoe. She doubted it would be enough to restore her Mum’s balance, though. 

— “Why didn’t you turn the light on?” She asked, though the answer was quite obvious.

_Because you’re drunk._

— “‘didn’t want to wake you up,” Mum replied in the same slurred voice. 

It was a nice thought, Betsey supposed, but rather counterproductive. 

— “Well I’m up now,” she replied, trying not to sound too harsh. “Do you want a glass of water?” 

Her mother ran her tongue over her parched lips, seemingly realizing just how thirsty she was, and nodded. 

— “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” 

Betsey went to the kitchen sink to fill up a glass of water. She prudently helped her mother to hold it upright. 

— “Did you have a nice evening?” She finally asked. 

If her Mum had been sober, the girl would have wanted nothing more than to tell her all about her own evening, and the money she had won with her singing. She would have proudly showed her the farthings stored up in the tin box on the shelf. As it was though, this would have to wait until tomorrow, after Mum had slept it off and recovered from her probable upcoming hangover. 

— “He broke up with me.” 

— “What?” 

— “Daniel…he broke up with me…”

_Oh, no. Not this again._

— “But…but the fancy restaurant… and the pictures…”

Her mother laughed, a dry, joyless, chilling laugh. 

— “Yes…turns out he wanted to let me down in style. Right after using that hotel room one last time, ‘course. A true gentleman, indeed…”

_What a prick._

— “I’m so sorry, Mum!” 

Betsey wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders, trying to communicate all of her love and warmth to her.

— “I really thought he was the right one, this time,” her Mum whimpered, pressing her head in the crook of her daughter’s neck. 

— “I know you did,” Betsey murmured. 

_As always._

— “And now it’s just the two of us again,” Mum added with an odd little laugh. She raised her head and looked in Betsey’s eyes, her gaze blurred by alcohol and tears. “My little girl…it’s always the two of us now…”

Betsey heard the regret, the silent reproach behind the endearment. She knew how to read between the lines by now. She was the burden her mother couldn’t put down, the ball and chain at her feet, the skeleton in her closet. What man would want to marry a penniless woman with a twelve year old daughter? 

Betsey’s own father had not wanted to stay with them when she was born, why would any other man bother?

The familiar feeling of hurt and guilt and anger rose inside her. She released her Mum from her embrace and stood up. 

— “Do you want to sleep here, or do I help you get to the bedroom?” She asked, not letting any of her inner turmoil show on her face – though she wasn’t sure her mother would notice anything was wrong in her current state, anyway. 

— “I think I’ll just stay right here,” Mum answered, staring blankly at the wall. 

— “Alright,” Betsey sighed. “Let me help you take off your hat and coat then.” 

She did so, with some effort, seeing as her mother still had some problems controlling her limbs, then she went to the bedroom and took her mum’s pillow and blanket, bringing them to the living-room to put them on the couch instead. 

She got her mother to lie down, and put another glass of water at arm’s reach just in case. 

— “You just call me if you need anything, alright?” She said. 

Mum didn’t answer. She had fallen into a silent, stunned lethargy that Betsey knew better than to try and raise her from. There was nothing she could do except wait for tomorrow to see how bad the damage was this time around. 

She deposited a soft kiss on her mother’s brow. 

— “Goodnight, Mum,” she murmured, not expecting any response, before walking back to her bed. 

_But I haven't got a penny, so we'll live on love and kisses,  
And be just as happy as the birds on the tree…_

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing (little) Betsey's point of view. 
> 
> I would love to read your thoughts in the comments <3


End file.
